Counterpoint
by guiltysecret79
Summary: Some things need to be done properly. The TARDIS makes sure of that.


She is now and forever and then and will be soon and eternal. The Little Ones flicker through Her veins, constantly-briefly filling Her with their turbulent emotions, acid-bright and cottonwool soft in equal measure. And there, there in the midst of all this chaos, is Her Thief, his mind a cool, clear note in the symphony of Her existence. For all his wandering, to Her he is still a small, linear thing. It is only Her timelessness allows her to see him in his multifaceted grandeur; all at once proud and fierce and joyful despairing lovinghatinghopingfearing, lifetimes upon lifetimes of living. Here and there, the thread blurs, splits, crosses, creates new patterns that diverge and pass beyond her limits. And, all the while, the Little Ones flicker around him, some wound closer and tighter, others orbiting more loosely, but above all these She _iswaswillbe_ aware of a counterpoint to his song, skipping lightly to and fro. To minds tied to Time, this inconstant companion might seem to be little more significant than the flickering Little Ones, but She can see all of time and space, and She knows that this one is different. It may meander and tangle with the other lives which pass through Her doors, but only _this_ one leaves before it first arrives.

She struggles to force Her mind into a perception of **now**, the way Her Thief and the Little Ones experience it. _And didn't-isn't-won't She do that for an eyeblink? "Hello Doctor", she whispers. Follow time's river, like they do?_ Focus in on the origin of the counterpoint; a real beginning within Her corridors, not a divergence or arrival or invasion, something newuniquespecial. But when She gets to the zero point, narrowing Her perception to almost nothing, She finds the note is _wrong. _It is not what She was looking for, not what Her Thief needs to complete him.

In another somewhen, Her rage drives Her to allow another Little One, glowing pink and gold, to lash out and become ; tries to change its fragile form into what Her Thief needs, but he stops her too soon, burns in the golden fires of Her rage.

The incomplete metamorphosis of the Little Pink and Gold One isn't enough. She needs to dohavedone this properly. Falling back into the limited awareness She needs to solve this puzzle is easier now, like building a bicycle, no_, riding_ a bicycle. That red bicycle when She was twelve. Ah. It would appear that changes work both ways. No matter, having filled the mind of Pink and Gold One has given her a whole new perspective. And some definite ideas about that kissing thing that Her Thief tried as the Pink and Gold One burned. She will have to try those out.

Back to the origin of the one who completes Her Thief, forcing her perception to the size of a pinhole. Ah ha. Now She sees that The Pretty One and The Red One are responsible for creating the New One; in this moment they are wrapped in a fierce, desperate cloud of emotions She has never witnessed so closely. So it is they who have made the New One incomplete, not sufficient for its future. Knowing this, she is frustrated with their failure, jealous of The Red One's proximity to the Pretty One! If She could only have the Pretty One for herself… Wait, this is a revelation. An appreciation of how pretty the Little One is can engender feelings of jealousy? And maybe, just maybe, there might have been more cross-contamination with the Pink and Gold One than She thought. This appreciation for prettiness is new. Or old. Or forever, for that matter; cause and effect are malleable when you're a multidimentional being. This too is _new_, something she has never experienced, this feeling of newness, of firsts; and headily tempting. It is almost too simple to slip within the Red One's mind, _be_ her, feel with her, and make the tiny adjustments to the tiny spark of Newness that are needed. And if Her Pretty One saw the Red One limned in gold and felt the touch of phantom hands of cold fire? He'll dismiss it. He'll _know _that the whispering and sighing at the edge of his perception must be yet another side effect of having a human mind with two thousand years of memories.

She doesn't even feel bereft when Her vortex child is spirited away, for even as She plays hob with the scanners, hinting at the Other Red One's wrongness, She knows that somewhere, somewhen, Her Thief's counterpoint is waiting for them.


End file.
